


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Merit



Category: Mexican Gothic - Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gaslighting, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Catalina wanted a romance.
Relationships: Catalina Taboada/Virgil Doyle
Kudos: 12





	Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Virgil had been charming.

She met him at a party, quietly sipping her drink while Noemí danced with her latest beau. She never got around to telling Noemí that she had been there when Virgil had approached her, a flute of wine in his hand, the liquid spinning in the glass like blood in the dim light. 

He had half bowed at her, which could have been mocking on another man, but on Virgil it was courtly. He had gently asked if the space next to her was taken. Catalina had shaken her head, a smile dancing across her lips, watching him through her lashes.

He had settled beside her with a smile. The dim lights had made his blond hair a halo, like he was an angel who had descended to earth for her. She had blushed, and watched as the gold in his eyes danced under the lights, and had fallen in love a bit then and there. 

He whispered close to her ear, the hairs on her neck rising to meet him, her eyes demurely lowered. She crossed her legs, when he placed a hand on her wrist, his fingers so much bigger than hers, his thumb pressing into her pulse, more intimate than a kiss and far more socially acceptable. After, she couldn’t say precisely what he had said to her. Only that it made her heart flutter and butterflies storm in her stomach. 

By the end of the night, she had scrawled her telephone number onto a napkin and tucked it into his jacket. She felt a high flush on her cheeks. She was never this forward. She had a failed engagement on her name, and a few brief courtships. She was almost twenty-seven.

Catalina had never had a romance.

Virgil had been loving.

He had listened patiently while she told him about her father, her mother, her stepfather leaving, how she had been foisted on relatives. She even told him about her failed engagement, her dismal courtships, how no one seemed worthy enough for her uncle. 

He had run a finger down her cheek, and she had sighed and pressed her whole face into it. You’ve always been alone, Virgil whispered into her ear. And the truth of the statement hit her like a thunderbolt.

At first she had denied it. She had shaken her head - her aunt and uncle, her many cousins, her friends, she protested. She had only to call and half-dozen friends would come. But Virgil had stared at her with such pity that she had felt the words awkwardly trail to a stop.

You’d never been lonely with me, Virgil had said, kissing her, hand on her breast, fingers delving between the buttons on her blouse. She shivered under her touch, pressing her thighs together, thinking of her rosary. But under Virgil’s touch she quivered and shook, his mouth a brand on her neck.

She had worn a scarf for three days after their date.

Virgil had been patient.

He had told her about his family. The high house on the hill, his old father, his stern aunt and his silly cousin. They had laughed together, Virgil holding her in his arms like they were lovers but she hadn’t - they hadn’t - not fully. Then his expression changed, a slow sadness descending upon him and Catalina felt her heart break for him. And he told her a story of his family’s fall from richness, the tragic death of his mother shortly after his birth, and his father’s illness. 

She had leaned forward to embrace him, when he kissed her. His lips were stern and dominating, and she felt like fragile porcelain. He was a firm master, his lips overwhelming her, his teeth nipping at her lips, demanding entry. It was rough, blood in her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if it was his or hers, it was thick and coppery, but also - also something she couldn’t place. Earthy. He pulled away from her suddenly, and she was gasping, licking her lips. This was true passion, this was Rochester! And he asked her a question she had already answered before.

He was blond, blue-eyed, like her own matinee idol, smiling down from her, lips red with blood, red like he had been kissed by Snow White. And Catalina had murmured, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes, because he had chosen her as his bride.

Virgil had been a prince.

Their wedding day passed in a blur. The solemn registry office, the wood peeling in the corners, she noted distantly. She couldn’t stop staring into Virgil’s blue eyes, which sometimes glowed gold when the sun hit them. When he placed a ring of smooth gold on her ring fingers, there had been a flare of gold, despite the dark of the room.

During the wedding feast, well barely more than a small lunch considering the speed of the wedding, Catalina could barely eat more than a bite or two. She had three glasses of champagne, however, the bubbles going straight to her head.

Noemí had kissed both of her cheeks, one after the other, in quick succession, before bringing her close for a tight hug. And then the rest of the wedding party left, a few knowing looks and nods directed her way. Catalina had another glass of champagne, the bubbles still on her lips when Virgil brought her in close for a kiss. 

Virgil had informed her that they weren’t to honeymoon - his business in the city had come to a close, and his father was so very ill. Surely he understood, he said, running a finger down her jaw, her neck, pressing into her pulse. Her pulse flared under his touch and Catalina had nodded her ready acquiescence. After the wedding, Catalina collected her suitcase, the rest of her trousseau would follow later, and boarded a train with her new husband.

Virgal had been kind.

Virgil’s cousin met them at the train station. He was a pale man, with deep shadows under his eyes, and hunched shoulders. Virgil greeted him and introduced him to Catalina. He gave her a startled look, something strange passing quickly across his pallid features, he half opened his mouth but then with a deep sigh, he closed it again. He took her suitcase, and Virgil’s too, packing them neatly in the old car. Catalina distantly remembered her father driving something similar, or maybe her stepfather.

The first glimpse of Virgil’s home took her breath away. Shrouded by mists, leering up out of the mountain, it struck her as an incredibly lonely place to raise a child. The sun was setting, rapidly, and it loomed up, all detail lost as the sun leeched colour from the sky. She squeezed Virgil’s hand and he gave her a distracted stare. Standing out front was a stern looking woman. The breeze blew her demure skirts around her knees, til she seemed like a shadow that could leap from the walls.

Her gaze had swept over Catalina, cool and assessing, and her corner of her mouth had quirked up. Catalina could be kind - she called it a smile. This was the stern aunt and Catalina smiled prettily, and spoke her thanks -

They spoke English here, the aunt said, her gaze over Catalina’s shoulder, meeting Virgil’s cool stare. Something passed between them, because Virgil was coming up behind her, murmuring an apology in her ear. And Catalina? Of course she had forgiven him.

He was her charming husband.

They entered the house and Catalina tilted her head back to take it all in. Virgil had leapt up ahead of her, stalking up the stairs like a man with a tiger behind him. The cousin had their suitcases in either hand, watching Virgil with a restrained expression on his face. 

His father is very ill, the aunt said, with a curt nod to Catalina. She was to follow.

The aunt had shown her to her room, close to Virgil’s and she had frowned for a moment. It was terribly old fashioned to have separate rooms, but as she surveyed her room, skirting over the mold that crept up the walls, she conceded that it was a very old house. 

The house needed someone to love it, she thought, sweeping the drapes open and watching the mist creep up to the windows. Love it like she loved Virgil.

Virgil had been loving.

He had opened the door to his room, and she walked in slowly, the heavy sweet wine from dinner still on her tongue, still twisting her head. She had stared, the ancient drapes, the thin carpet, and the tall bed. Oh it is perfect, she had whispered. The first night she had barely noticed the mold creeping up the walls, staining the wallpaper in new florid designs.

In Virgil’s room, he had undressed her slowly, slowly unbuttoning the back of his dress, his finger sliding down her spine. The dress fell in a puddle at her feet and Catalina awkwardly stepped out. Virgil’s mouth had parted as he gazed at her. She toed off her shoes, and looked up at her husband. 

She had stood in the middle of the room, clad in only her silk slip, her lingerie, her nipples tightening in the cool air of the room. Virgil had loomed over her, and she looked up at her through her eyes, curling her toes in the lush carpet. He had walked forward, and she a step back, until the edge of his bed hit the back of her knees and she was falling, falling, onto the silky quilt.

Virgil ravaged her with his eyes and felt the air grow tight in her throat. He ran his legs up her legs, running nails over her silk stockings, and she held back a cry that he was ruining them, before he ripped them off her legs and pushed up her slip. She squirmed under his heavy gaze, placing her hands on her stomach, twitching towards her panties. But she needn’t have worried, he eased her out of them as well and stood over her, his trousers straining with his manhood. She couldn’t look away, so she didn’t notice Virgil moving at first, sliding a finger between her thighs. He was kneeling at the edge of the bed now, mouth on the thigh, biting at the flesh there. And she was shaking - was it pain, was it pleasure, as thrust his finger into her, curling it deep inside of her. 

Above her the ceiling seemed to be dancing with flowers, with snakes, with - it was moving! Her head felt dizzy, and she screwed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as Virgil parted her legs.

Somehow, and perhaps it was wine, they were both naked and Virgil was above her, arms braced by the side of her head. His eyes seemed more gold than blue. 

The edge of his manhood pressed against her, and she opened her mouth - to say what she wasn’t sure, but he was already inside her, breaking into her with one quick stroke. She started to scream, from the shock, from the pain, she wasn’t sure - but he covered her mouth with his own, his tongue strong and dominating, darting between her lips. He pulled out, the tip of his manhood still inside her, and pulled his face away from hers. He looked between them, where they met so intimately. She felt herself blush, when he met her gaze again, there was a fierce expression in his face, but the next moment he was inside her again, thrusting short, rapid thrusts that seemed to beat in time with her heart. 

When his pace quickened, she wondered how much longer she could last but then she shuddered, and she shook under him, as fragile as a leaf. He collapsed on top of her, his breath a gush of hot air next to her ear. He twitched inside her. And she twisted underneath him. He pulled back, smiling down at her, his blue eyes dancing under the glow of the lamps. Then he thrust in her again and she gasped. He propped himself up on his elbows, running a hand down her chest, fingers pausing briefly to toy and pinch at her nipples, before he cupped her sex, which still held his manhood.

Keeping his eyes on her face, Virgil started to slowly pull out, a hot gush of his semen falling on her thighs. His manhood was red with her blood, the white stained pink.

“You bled prettily,” he said, his hand continuing the journey down her stomach, fingers pressing into her flesh there, still soft, still flat. He scooped up his semen, it shining glowly gold under the lamp light, and then thrust his fingers inside her again. “Perhaps you’re already bearing my child, Catalina,” he said, smiling as he fingers dove into her, pressing into her tender parts. 

And she could only nod, tears at the corner of her eyes, as the taste of the sweet and strong wine came up into her mouth again.


End file.
